


Five Things Phil Coulson Absolutely Does Not Do (And One Thing He Does Every Day)

by earthseed_fic



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5 Things, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseed_fic/pseuds/earthseed_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson absolutely does not know all the lyrics to the songs from <i>My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Phil Coulson Absolutely Does Not Do (And One Thing He Does Every Day)

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write some Clint/Phil porn, but this bit of silliness wouldn't leave me alone.

**1\. Phil Coulson Absolutely Does Not Flirt on the Comms**

One month after Clint Barton's first field op, the scuttlebutt around SHIELD was that Agent Coulson had gone soft.  Consider the facts in evidence:

  * Coulson had zero patience for insubordination, and even less for small talk. Whenever an agent drew duty on a Coulson op, he or she prepared to be on task, 24/7, wheels up to wheels down.
  * Barton never met a rule he didn't itch to break. He was too much of a professional and perfectionist to break the important rules (he always kept his weapon up and downrange when training), but the little ones (he cut the sleeves off every uniform issued him) were fair game.
  * Barton chattered non-stop on his first mission. He sang a little, joked a lot, and through it all, Coulson did _nothing_.  No reprimands, no warnings, _nothing_. He just let the bastard talk.  



So yeah, he was going soft.  Or he had crush on the new marksman.

The crush was less likely, but made for better gossip, so within a week SHIELD was abuzz with the mad love affair between the Archer and his Handler.

Coulson heard the rumors.  It was impossible not to. But he did his best to ignore them, and certainly never commented.

Yes, even when you stripped the rumors of their considerable exaggeration, what you were left with is the fact that Barton talked.  That's what snipers did.  Contrary to popular belief, being a sniper was about more than being a good shot. From his perch, Barton was responsible not only for hitting his target, but also for delivering valuable intel, making it possible for everyone else to do their jobs.  He called out positions, confirmed enemy numbers and weapons, told teams where to lay down fire. So Coulson could concede the point: yes, Barton talked a lot.  But he also respected a radio silence order, and talked on the open comm only when giving sitreps. More importantly, he was ridiculously good at his job, better than most. Coulson figured that earned him the right to hum a tune or two. 

And so it had been in all the years they worked together.

Coulson saw nothing untoward in this, certainly nothing romantic. He was a handler and Barton was his responsibility. Cultivating a comfortable, amiable working relationship was necessary for the successful completion of their missions. Playing straight man in Barton's comedy act was part of the job.

If pressed (and every SHIELD agent, save Fury, knew better), Coulson could admit that the archer had a certain charm.  And that he had grown to look forward to the running field commentary the other man delivered over their private comm. And that he did get a small kick out of the way Barton refused to learn any operation names, referring to his targets as "The Big Boss Man" or "Mister Pain in the Ass," driving Sitwell apeshit in the process.  If pressed, he could admit that Barton was a breath of fresh air.

If people wanted to call that flirting, so be it.

He settled into his chair, prepared for a long night, and switched on his comm.  "Talk to me, Barton."

The reply, and the accompanying grin, was immediate.  "I thought you'd never ask, sir."

**2\. Phil Coulson absolutely does not know all the lyrics to the songs from _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_**

Phil made it a practice not to follow any of the links sent over the SHIELD "miscellaneous" listserv. They tended to lead to lolcats, fake motivational posters, chibi art, and confirmation that there are no exceptions to Rule 34.  Every once in a while, though, he broke his own rule and clicked.

The link led him to a fan video called _300 Ponies_ , a mash up of the trailer for the movie _300_ and the characters from _My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic._ An hour later he watched a dozen videos, and by the end of the week he'd watched all 52 episodes of the series.  The animation was smooth and well-done, and the plots were surprisingly entertaining.  Whenever he was having a bad day, he found the adventures of the Mane Six and the other residents of Equestria to be a pleasant distraction.

When he found himself in an A.I.M interrogation room, steeling himself against blows to his jaw and stomach between demands for the "access codes," his thoughts turned to the ponies.

Shift change brought in a brand new interrogator. The agent, dressed in A.I.M.'s bright yellow uniform, which was barely distinguishable from a beekeeper's uniform, sat down in front of him and asked, "How are we doing today, agent?" Phil doubted the sincerity of the inquiry.

Later, he couldn't tell you why he didn't simply respond with his name and rank. Instead, he started to sing.

_When I was a little filly and the sun was going down..._

_The darkness and the shadows, they would always make me frown_

"What are you doing?" Phil couldn't see the guy's face, but he could imagine the frown.

_I'd hide under my pillow_

_From what I thought I saw_

_But Granny Pie said that wasn't the way_

_To deal with fears at all_

The A.I.M. agent reached across and slapped Phil, hard, across his mouth. He could taste blood.  He smiled as he sang,

_She said: "Pinkie, you gotta stand up tall_

_Learn to face your fears_

_You'll see that they can't hurt you_

_Just laugh to make them disappear_

His interrogator stood to get leverage for the next swing. Before the blow landed, though, he fell over suddenly, an arrow lodged solidly in his neck.  Phil closed his eyes, waited for Barton, and continued to sing.

_So, giggle at the ghostly_

_Guffaw at the grossly_

_Crack up at the creepy_

_Whoop it up with the weepy_

_Chortle at the kooky_

_Snortle at the spooky_

_And tell that big dumb scary face to take a hike and leave you alone and if he thinks he can scare you then he's got another thing coming and the very idea of such a thing just makes you wanna_

_Laugh!_

Back at Stark Tower, after he convinced Rogers and Romanov to quit fussing over him, Tony found him in the kitchen making coffee.

"Glad to have you back, Phil."

"Is it your turn to babysit me?" Phil supposed he sounded crankier than was strictly necessary.

"Just getting some juice. I sometimes do that. In _my_ kitchen."

"Sorry for snapping."

"It's okay. All things considered and all that."

They sipped their drinks in silence for few minutes. Then Tony asked, "Were you singing the 'Laughter Song' when we found you?"

"That depends," Phil replied. "Did you recognize it as the 'Laughter Song'?"

Tony blinked once, then twice, and smiled.  "Good night, agent."

 

**3\. Phil Coulson absolutely does not save all of Barton's postcards**

The first one arrived when Barton was on his first solo mission in France. The postcard, however, featured a picture of a cartoon beaver set against a garishly colored Oregon landscape. The postmark was from New York.

_Every time we went into some dinky little train station when I was on the road, I'd see these things.  I always wanted to send one. But everyone I knew lived in the same circus tent I did. Have I mentioned I'm glad we don't live in a circus tent?_

The last time Barton was in Oregon had been 3 months before.

At first Phil assumed the postcard and its message were a code, a message Barton didn't feel comfortable sending through normal SHIELD channels. The idea that his operative was in trouble made his blood run cold.  Without checking the time or the mission details, he grabbed his phone and dialed. The archer picked up on the third ring.

"Coulson?" Barton's voice was low and scratchy, as if he'd just woken up.

"I watched _Phantom Menace_ again last night," Phil said.

Barton's surprised laugh was easily the most beautiful sound Phil had heard in a long time. "Why? That movie sucks."

"So you're okay?" He collapsed into his chair, instantly going from worried out of his mind to embarrassed that he used their emergency code for no reason.

"I'm perfect, sir." His tone was serious now, though Phil could still hear the grin.  He heard that grin even in his sleep.  "Something I should be worried about?"

"No, agent." Phil had a full on blush now. "I misread a piece of intel. The mission parameters still stand. You still have the go order."

Phil could hear the rustle of sheets and the sound of Barton rummaging through his duffle. He could see the scene clearly in his mind: Barton had been sleeping, so he would be dressed only in boxers, with his boots and weapons within easy reach. He was wide awake now, though, and would be searching for sweats and t-shirt. He would go for a run to burn up the nervous energy, even though it was only 3am Paris time.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Barton," Phil said.

"Sleep is for the weak, sir," Barton joked.  Then, "Are you sure everything's okay there? It's not like you to misread anything."

"It's been a long day. Mistakes happen."

"First time for everything, I suppose."  There was the sound of the phone being jostled and again Phil could picture it: Barton pulling on a worn circus t-shirt, shifting the phone from one ear to the other as he slid each muscled arm through the sleeves and pulled the whole thing down across his chest and abs. "We're going to need a new code.  You kind of blew this one on a non-secure line."

Phil was quickly losing control of this conversation, a feeling he was not used to at all. "You can come up with a new one. We'll talk about it when you get back."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Good night, agent. Again, I'm sorry I woke you."

"Any time, sir. Good night."

After he hung up, Phil looked at the postcard again, seeing it with new eyes.  Barton wasn't in trouble. Instead, in a moment of whim and nostalgia, probably when he went out for a run alone on their last mission in Oregon, Barton had bought a postcard and then held on to it for 3 months, until he could send it without violating SHIELD operations security. And all the while, apparently, he'd imagined Phil on the receiving end. The realization...floored him.

When Barton returned from France, he tried to apologize for the postcard.  "I should have known you'd think I was trying to send you a secret message.  I'm sorry I freaked you out."

"It's not every day people send me cartoon beavers just to say hi, Barton.  I was caught off guard." And here, he steadied his gaze and willed Barton to understand.  "You did nothing wrong."

There were more postcards after that: a picture of the Eiffel Tower by way of Moscow; the Grand Canyon arrived from Madrid; Rio's Christ the Redeemer had a New Orleans postmark. They never said much of anything at all and never used their names, but they were all meant for Phil and Phil alone.

A picture of a New Orleans riverboat arrived from Tokyo, two weeks after a mission to the southern city.

_I bet you're the only person ever to eat beignets without getting a single speck of powdered sugar on your fancy suit.  You really are a ninja._

The messages were private, meant only for him. He was certain Barton would be mortified if anyone else saw them. Plus, in the wrong hands, they could give someone intel, however slight, about the movements of one of SHIELD's most lethal operatives. So Phil bought an album, identical to the one that held his Cap trading card collection, and tucked each postcard carefully inside. 

He didn't save Barton's postcards. But he did keep them safe.

 

**4\. Phil Coulson absolutely does not play in a bi-weekly Avengers RPG game**

Being the Avengers liaison meant a lot of things, including, but not limited to, catching Captain America up on 21st century pop culture (a task he enjoyed very much), to educating Thor on Midgardian do's and don'ts (not as entertaining as you'd think), to managing the team of publicists and lawyers hired to respond to the inevitable complaints that came in every time any of the Avengers so much as sneezed in the wrong direction.

He was also in charge of the Avengers brand.  All official Avengers toys, t-shirts, lunch boxes, calendars, posters, mugs, etc. went through Phil first. 

Which Nick Fury very well knew.

Which is why Phil is more than a little perturbed at being called into the director's office and having a copy of the _Official Avengers RPG Player's Handbook_ tossed across the desk at him.

"S.W.O.R.D., Agent?"

"I think Strategic Weapons and Ordnance Research Division has a nice ring to it, sir."

"Were you planning on telling me about this?"

"I wasn't aware that you needed to approve every Avengers product we put on the market.  Is that a policy change, sir?"

"You cagey bastard," Fury grinned.  He leaned over and picked up the handbook, flipping through the pages until he came to the character templates.  "This S.W.O.R.D. agent bears an uncanny resemblance to you, wouldn't you say?"

Phil was definitely not blushing. It only made sense that the game have an agent character for players to choose. "He's just a template, sir. No gamer worth his salt actually plays any of those characters.  He's there just to give players ideas, guidance."  He didn't say, of course, how surprised (and flattered) he'd been when 4 of the 7 players in the test group he formed to beta the game had chosen to play S.W.O.R.D. agents rather than superheroes. 

The current campaign he'd been running (it had been years since he'd GM'd a campaign, but he found he was still good at it) with this group was into its fifth week.  The first two campaigns had worked out the kinks in the game system. By then, meeting every other week had become a habit none of them seemed inclined to break. So they kept meeting, and kept playing.

Phil found that he learned a lot about the public's opinion of the Avengers from the other players. Tony wasn't as insufferable to the general public as he feared. Men and women alike found Steve's earnestness charming and sexy.  People were still afraid of Hulk, but becoming less so each time he appeared on the scene and cooperated fully, and happily, with the team. The fact that Widow was the only female Avenger struck many people as wildly sexist. There were several Tumblrs devoted to the topic (Phil subscribed to each).  And the debate about whether or not Hawkeye's "bad" form contributed to or detracted from his impressive aim continued to wage. All in all, given that this kind of information would be difficult to come by through other means, the gaming sessions were quite productive for Phil and SHIELD. And he told Fury as much.

Fury stared him down, that look that said 'I can't believe this is my job,' and slid the handbook into a file in his desk drawer.  "I trust you know what you're doing, Phil.  You always do.  Just, the next time you decide to create an entire game devoted to your ninja skills, give me a heads up."

Phil thought that was only fair.

 

**5\. Phil Coulson absolutely does not believe in public displays of affection**

Clint had gone missing on a SHIELD op. While not a regular occurrence, missing agents were not uncommon. So for 24 hours Phil was not unduly worried (though he did remain on the Helicarrier, refusing food and sleep while he helped process the intel coming in from the other agents in the field).

24 hours turned into 72; 72 hours turned into 5 days; 5 days turned into a full week, and Phil was certain he was slowly forgetting how to breathe. Each new lead led to more dead ends, and the ones that weren't dead ends offered no comfort.

On the sixth day, Pepper Potts showed up in his office with soup and strict orders that he get some sleep. She reminded him that he was of no use to anyone if he couldn't even see straight. She promised that the Avengers would bring Clint home.

On the seventh day, Tony, Steve, and Natasha followed one of the more distressing leads and found Clint in a Hydra compound in Sarajevo. He was alive and hurt, but with enough fight in him to assist the Avengers in his rescue.

Phil was on the flight deck when the Quinjet landed on the Helicarrier. There was a crowd there to greet Clint: Fury, a team from medical, the counterterrorism guys itching for a debriefing, the Avengers who hadn't participated in the rescue. Phil didn't expect to talk to Clint.  He just needed to see with his own eyes that archer was alive and okay. He needed to see with his own eyes that cocky grin he thought he'd lost forever.

So imagine his surprise when Clint got off the Quinjet  and walked straight to him. Phil opened his mouth to say "Welcome back, agent," or something equally inane that didn't begin to express what he was feeling, but he didn't get the chance because Clint spoke first.

"I really, really want to kiss you.  Please tell me I can kiss you."

It was so outside the range of possibilities that Phil imagined for this moment that at first he couldn't quite process the words. But then the expression on Clint's face started to change from open and hopeful to hurt  and embarrassed, and Phil got with the program.  "God, yes." ****

Every single fiber of Phil's being that thrived on the well-ordered life he'd created for himself cringed at the idea of something as intimate as a first kiss taking place at work, in front of his colleagues.  But when he felt Clint's big, warm hand on the back of his head, felt his arm wrap around his waist so their shoulders and chests and thighs were pressed together, felt Clint's stubble and lips and tongue and teeth beneath his own, felt his knees go weak--well, Phil was more than happy to throw decorum and order out the window after that.

Fury's amused "Ahem" ended that first kiss, but in the months since there had been many more. Quick ones in Phil's office that had him sighing with disapproval; long, slow, sweet ones on those rare mornings Clint convinced him to sleep in; needy, desperate ones after too-close calls in the field; filthy kisses that ended with Phil breathless, and spent, and sated, and happier than he even knew possible.

If the Avengers had walked in on more than one of those kisses, so many times in fact that Tony had taken to muttering "get a room" no matter what they were doing, Phil was more than happy to blame Clint's exhibitionist tendencies.

**+1 Phil absolutely says I love you everyday**

Neither Clint nor Phil had any illusions about their jobs. They understood very well that each call to suit up could be their last.

So Phil left post-it notes on Clint's quiver, a simple heart and the letter P saying all that he felt.

He replied "good hunting" to each of Clint's "wheels up in 10" texts.

He stocked up on the archer's favorite yogurt, and loaded his iPod with the bluegrass he was sometimes nostalgic for.

And on those nights when they were in the same place at the same time, and they were able to make love slowly, reacquainting themselves with the most effective ways to make each other scream in ecstasy, Phil would whisper, "You complete me," and Clint would reply with an undignified snort, and they would drift off to sleep tangled in each other's limbs.

All in all, it was a pretty good life.

**Author's Note:**

> That 300 Ponies video is real. You can see it [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTlGYS6rAfA). My husband is Brony because of that video.
> 
> When Joss Whedon was writing Astonishing X-Men, he introduced a division of SHIELD called S.W.O.R.D. The S.W.O.R.D. in this story is something totally different, a complete figment of Phil's fanboy imagination.


End file.
